GUYSSSS guess who's back?! : D
This actually started out as an installment for Influential, but quickly transformed into something that could stand on its own (and it was getting longer and longer… too long to fit in just one or two chapters).
Speaking of that, I think this is the first non-PATT universe fic in like… two or three years lol. Although, I have to admit, it's very PATT-like, plot wise. I had to constantly remind myself "I don't have to stick this in the timeline, just WRITE THE DAMN THING."
I am hoping to have one final long fic in the PATT universe; a very dark, mature one. I don't have much written for it, since I've been kinda MIA from fanfiction for a year or so (because, you know, life as an adult sucks, and I'm pursuing my passion for poetry and original short fiction) but I'm almost always thinking about FF these days.
Which obviously seemed like the perfect time to dip my toes back in and write some BRAND NEW Fillmore and Ingrid goodness for y'all.
I hope you guys like what I've got for you! Please leave a review, say hi, send me prompts or suggestions. I look forward to all of it!
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CRACKS IN HER ARMOR
CHAPTER ONE: A FORTRESS OF FILES
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Thursday night, 6:30 P.M.
"Disco."
Ingrid looked up from her piles of paperwork and school records at the sound of her partner's signature "a-ha". They'd been stuck in the School Archives for hours. The sun inched closer and closer to the horizon, casting an orange glow onto the carpeted floor. She dropped what was in her hands and arched her back in a stretch. "What did you find?"
Fillmore handed her a lone sheet of paper. "The smoking gun." She skimmed the incident record, committing it to memory as he stood up and stretched. "Who has two thumbs and is the greatest detective of all time?" He pointed his thumbs at himself with a cocky smirk. "This guy."
She scoffed. "Slow down, World's Greatest Detective. This doesn't prove anything," she told him, waving the paper in the air.
"Yeah, it does. It proves me right. You and I caughtKranchez tryna swap a bunch of championship trophies with fakes. According to that—" He pointed at the paper in her hands. "—sheet of paper, two weeks after getting busted, he got caught with phony ballots for the Student Council election. This proves he has the means and the know-how to rig those kids' science projects at the Fair."
"That's fairly convincing, Fillmore," Ingrid interjected with a shake of her head, "but what about motive? Opportunity?"
"You know those trophies he was tryna swipe?" Fillmore asked, handing her the case file. "The kids whose projects got sabotaged, they were on those teams."
Ingrid skimmed the file with a sigh. "That's circumstantial at best, Fillmore," she explained, shaking her head once more. "It's too broad; it could just be a coincidence, and the Student Council is going to want more. Like, why those kids? Those teams?" She leaned over and grabbed another stack of manila folders. "We did full background on each team member; there's barely any overlap with Kranchez."
Why do I gotta do all the work?" he joked with a huff, prompting Ingrid to roll her eyes. As if she hadn't poured through double the amount of paperwork he had today. He sifted through a pile of papers on his left, before ripping one out with an a-ha! and handing it to her. "See?"
She swiped it from his hands, scanning it carefully. It was a disturbance report from last month: Kranchez stormed into an unsuspecting classroom and screamed at Carina Sanders for allegedly talking to another guy, who just-so-happened to be Student Council Secretary Oliver Reagan.
"Jealousy as motive?"
Fillmore threw out his hands. "Oldest, most reliable motive in the book."
Ingrid sighed. She wanted to believe him. Because he was right; jealousy was almost always the motive, but there simply wasn't enough to back it up this time. "I don't know, Fillmore. Project-rigging is a pretty deep stretch from counterfeiting, even for someone with a broken heart."
Her partner shrugged. "He could've swapped the real projects with fakes."
Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me that he created four exact replicas and somehow managed to replace all of them before the opening ceremony without anybody noticing?"
He glowered at her. "You're just tryna shoot me down 'cause you want the 'greatest detective' crown," Fillmore teased with a cocky smirk, to which she rolled her eyes. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the stack. "Too bad, mama. Not gonna happen."
She nodded. "I think it is, actually. Because you're missing one key piece of information."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh, really? What might that be?"
She tossed back Kranchez's file. "After getting caught with the phony tallies, his parents sent him to reform school…" She trailed off as Fillmore flipped open the folder and gaped. "…in Olympia," she finished, crossing her arms.
"Dawg…" Fillmore grumbled under his breath. He cupped his hand over his mouth as he read over the file. "Someone's tryna frame him."
"I think we need to consider it," Ingrid confirmed with a nod. "They might be using his past as a smokescreen to hide behind. He's the perfect fall guy."
He wagged a finger, finally catching up with her train of thought. "But they hadn't expected him to get shipped outta state."
Ingrid wagged a finger back at him. "Exactly. And, honestly…" she trailed off, spreading out the pile of papers in front of her in a half-circle. "…I'm wondering if we're not looking at a team, here."
Fillmore's eyebrows shot up. "A whole team?"
"Yeah…" Ingrid's eyes narrowed as she scanned the pictures of the victims and their ruined projects. She looked between them all, their names and faces and histories all unwinding far enough for her photographic memory to make a new connection. "Kranchez—" she tapped his picture, "—has a motive to come after Oliver Reagan—" she tapped his picture, "—for talking up his girlfriend, but zero opportunity. Marvin Hurst—" she tapped his picture, "—has motive to come after Candace Brightley—" she tapped her picture, "—but according to the cameras, he hadn't come anywhere near her or her project the entire Fair."
A lightbulb went off above Fillmore's head. "But," he cut in, "Tehama flagged him as suspicious on the security cams, because he was lingering by Reagan's project for a little longer than most, especially for someone he doesn't otherwise cross paths with." Ingrid nodded, a satisfied smile appearing on her lips. "You think all the victim's enemies banded together to sabotage their projects while establishing solid alibis for everyone we'd consider obvious suspects."
Ingrid nodded. "Yeah, I do."
Fillmore whistled in awe. "Damn. That's smart."
Ingrid clicked her tongue and held up her thumbs. "But who has two thumbs and is way smarter?" Fillmore grinned, shaking his head at her. She wagged her thumbs at herself. "This girl."
Fillmore let out a hearty laugh. "Not so fast, Smarty Pants," he warned, scooting closer to get a better look at the files in front of her. "Every ring has a ringleader. The question remains—" He gestured to the pictures beneath his hands. "—who is theirs? And who exactly is in on it? I mean, some of these guys have multiple enemies. How can we be sure who's involved and who's not?"
Ingrid hmmed, pursing her lips and glancing over the piles in front of her. "Good point…"
"I don't know about you, but all these stacks are kinda distracting," he said, standing up and motioning to the piles and piles of paperwork around them. "I think we need to put these up and weed through the possible suspects as we go."
She looked around and shrugged. "I don't know, I like having them stacked all around. It's like an impenetrable fortress."
"Of course, you do," he teased, rolling his eyes at her as he stretched. "If you insist on doing it your way, you're on your own. My eyes are crossin' something fierce." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes for effect.
She waved him off. "Yeah, you can head out. I'm sure your mom's serving dinner soon, anyhow."
The moment that statement left her mouth, his stomach growled. "Right on cue," he chuckled, patting his empty stomach for emphasis. "You sure you're good sorting through this mess on your own?"
"Yeah, Dad's in Minneapolis at some teacher's conference this weekend, so I've got all night. And I'll work faster without hearing 'my back hurts' all night," she mocked.
He chuckled, but otherwise ignored her jab. He jerked his thumb behind him towards the door. "You can come with if you want. It's chili night, and you know my mom; she always makes way too much."
"Nah, but thanks. Dad left money for takeout. So," she drawled, "I'm thinking—"
"Takeout from Egg Rollery?"
Ingrid blushed. "Am I that predictable?"
"That, you are," her partner confirmed with a wink. Ingrid averted her gaze, her red lips forming a bashful smile. "Call me if you need to talk anything out, or if you change your mind about dinner. You've got the keys to lock up, right?"
"Sure do," she said, lifting the keys in question up in the air and spinning them around her finger. "Late."
"Late."
As the Archives door swung shut behind her partner, she sighed. Finally, peace and quiet. She loved working with Fillmore, but he got bored easily. Especially with the tedious tasks like paperwork which, quite frankly, was seventy percent of their job. He became annoying after a couple hours of sifting through records.
She stood up and tossed her backpack onto the table. Now that he was gone, she could do things her way. From her backpack, she pulled out sticky notes, headphones, and her Sharpies before turning back around and eying the stacks on stacks of files they'd accumulated.
She smirked, tossed the supplies down on the floor, and cracked her knuckles. Time to get to work.
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Thanks for reading! Please leave a review and lemme know what you think! : )
rock on yall.
ellameno